


How I'm Imagining You

by WildnessBecomesYou



Series: Music is Not the Food of Love, but the Messenger [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale just has Secret Sexy Thoughts, M/M, Unrequited Lust, another! songfic!, bc he's a goddamn nerd, except it's not, he also is trying to cover it with fancy talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 23:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19305901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: I won't deny I've got in my mind nowAll the things I would doSo I try to talk refined for fear that you find outHow I'm imaginin' youAziraphale wants Crowley and it's not that he's embarrassed about it, it's just that he thinks it would be a bad idea if Crowley knew that.





	How I'm Imagining You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey demons, it's me, ya gurl, back with another songfic. 
> 
> Talk, by Hozier (Wasteland, Baby! (Listen. Listen I just got around to listening to the album right after I watched Good Omens and uhhhhhhhh yes.) ). Horny Aziraphale is a lot of fun.

It’s demons that tempt.

Really, that’s a demon’s job.

So this must— it _must_ — be Crowley’s fault. 

Aziraphale decided that, yes, the image of Crowley, sprawled out like usual on his couch, but this time without the blasted fabric in the way— Crowley had planted that there. Just like Crowley had planted Aziraphale’s need to touch the demon’s skin where his sharp angles met and blended and softened. Just like Crowley had planted the want to see whether the demon tasted more like his beloved scotch or the salty security of jasmine rice. 

Aziraphale shook his head. 

“Y’alright there, angel?” Crowley drawled, arching an eyebrow at Aziraphale. Aziraphale wanted to—

Oh, stop. 

“Perfectly. Simply pre-occupied,” Aziraphale responded, voice pitched up just a little higher than normal. 

Crowley grinned. Aziraphale hated it, because he loved it, that _wicked_ smile, he wondered what it could do—

He was sure it could do _many_ things— 

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Aziraphale snapped his eyes back to Crowley’s, swallowing thickly, trying to come up with something to cover. It wouldn’t do to have the demon _know_ , that would be far too tempting, Crowley would be far too proud of it. He was helpless, though, helpless like the lovers of those very human myths.

“Orpheus,” he choked out. “I was thinking of Orpheus.”

Crowley cocked his head to the side. Devilish dog, Aziraphale thought. “Orpheus? And Eurydice? That Orpheus? The musician?”

Of course Crowley mentioned the music. Good, he didn’t have to protest against Orpheus, the _lover_. “Yes. How he was driven mad in love, in grief, in— he couldn’t keep faith, you know?” He spoke as if simply mulling over the old story, interest sparked just as if he’d read of something new humans decided to create. “Quite irrevocable, though, that love he felt. I suppose Eurydice really was as stunning as these stories presupposed.” 

Words could hide plenty. 

Crowley’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Hmph. Well, she was. Nice girl, too, heard she forgave ‘im even as they took her away.” 

So Eurydice had her share, Aziraphale thought. Crowley threw a leg over the back of Aziraphale’s study couch and Aziraphale followed the line of his leg. He’d like to— 

Well, he’d like his share too. Preferably all the remaining shares of his demon. 

“Quite.” 

He returned to reading. Pretending to read, at least. Crowley returned to studying the ceiling of Aziraphale’s study, or at least pretending to. Aziraphale risked tilting his eyes up to Crowley’s form. Languid, relaxed, at least pretending to be. 

But Aziraphale knew, knew how tensed his demon always was. How ready he was to spring into action, whether that be fight or flight, anger always bubbling below the surface, tension strung in the tendons that bounced when he moved. 

Aziraphale figured he could relieve some of that tension. He could tilt Crowley’s head back until his neck gave in to trust that Aziraphale would support the head. He could run his fingers up and down Crowley’s arms while he breathed sweet words into Crowley’s ears, marvel as the muscled tensed and relaxed under his ministrations. He could run his hands over the tops of thighs until they relaxed into the touch instead of jumping in surprise. He could wash waves of pleasure over the demon until the demon felt his own Grace, drowns in the Love Aziraphale was so _ready_ to give—

Crowley was staring into his eyes. 

“Aziraphale,” he said, sibilants hissing ever so slightly. “Are you quite sure you’re alright?” 

Aziraphale swallowed thickly. That gaze— he knew what he would do to Crowley, but what would Crowley do to _him_? 

“Angel?”

“Oh, uhm.” Aziraphale shifted in his armchair, slight creaking filling the room. “Thoughts just— drifting, is all.”

His book slipped from his fingertips. Crowley’s face hovered before his suddenly. 

“Penny for your thoughtssss, Angel, I’ll pay again.” The blasted demon was smirking at him. Wickedly. 

“Bugger-all.”


End file.
